The Undertaker's Daughter
by I-Threaten-My-Houseplants
Summary: "Dad, there's an escaped mental hospital patient in the house, what do I do?"
1. Who's the Crazy Person?

My father owns a small shop in London's East End. It's an…odd…little shop, but it does alright. His customers are almost always taken to the back room, but sometimes, he leaves them out in the front room. I don't want to see that. He talks about his more…interesting…customers at dinner. I don't want to hear that. Lately, most of his customers have been…incomplete. They're all missing organs, and I don't want to go into detail about which ones.

(A/N: Has anyone guessed who her dad is yet? NO? WELL THEN STUDY YOUR KUROSHITSUJI.)

Did I mention that all of his customers are dead? No? Well, they are.

I'm not a huge fan of my father's line of work, at least not the dead bodies' part. All I do is paint the coffins.

Today is no different from every other day of my life. I try to stay upstairs for a few hours in the morning, because that's when the customers usually arrive. I make my way down the stairs, black braid trailing behind me, and immediately wish I hadn't. Because there it is, another gruesomely murdered woman, spread out on a cart at the door, covered in blood. It's just there for all to see. I go straight to the door to the back room without looking at it too much and open the door. Sure enough, there's Dad, working on ANOTHER gruesomely dismembered corpse. "How many times do I have to tell you to MOVE THEM TO THE BACK AS SOON AS YOU GET THEM?" I say, irritated. One would think that, being the Undertaker's kid, I would be used to this. But I don't think anyone except Dad can get used to the fact that there is a DISEMBOWELED BODY in the front room. Not even me, and I've tried to for nearly all of the sixteen years I've been alive.

"I'll get her in a few minutes~~!" he says in a singsong voice. I roll my eyes and go out to the backyard shed, where MY part of the work is. But before I can even get my hands on a paintbrush, I hear someone knocking on the door. Yes, it's that quiet around here—even when you're outside, you can hear someone knocking on your door.

"Alexis, can you get the door?" Dad calls from his "office" and I grudgingly obey. The only person that I know that ever comes here is William T. Spears, a supervisor from the London Dispatch Society and one of the coldest, most apathetic excuses for a person I have ever met. But it's not him at the door. Instead, it's…a crazy person. I can't even tell if it's male or female. He/She/It skips in and knocks on the door to the back room, brandishing a…well, I don't even know what that is. (A/N: There were probably no chainsaws in the 1800s.)

"Dad, there's an escaped mental hospital patient in the house, what do I do?" I yell over the sound of the weapon (at least I think it's a weapon) roaring. The back door opens and Dad steps out, takes the weapon and stops it from making that terrible sound. But he/she/it is too busy to notice. He/She/It is hovering over the disemboweled corpse.

"It's so beautiful, covered in pretty, pretty red…" he/she/it muses. His/Her/Its long red hair is draping over the dead body, some of it dipping into the blood.

"I told you there was a crazy person in the house," I say, feeling like I've made myself pretty clear. But Dad doesn't seem to hear me. I watch, dumbfounded, as he walks over to the body and starts having a conversation with the crazy person.

"Yes, she is rather interesting~! But that's not the reason you are here, is it, Grell?" he says, making my jaw drop.

"YOU KNOW THIS PERSON?" I yell, surprised. My glasses, huge, circular-lensed, black-framed things, slide down my nose a little and I have to push them up. I'm glad they didn't fall, then I'd have to look for them, and that would take a while. I could very well be the closest person in the world to being blind without actually being blind.

"Of course~! Alexis, this is Grell Sutcliff, he's another Reaper~!" Dad introduces the person, who I now assume to be male.

Dad never seemed to see a point in keeping things from me, so I've always know about the Grim Reapers, the Dispatch Society, and the whole "retired Reaper" thing. He's made it very clear to me that when the Society comes calling for me, I have a choice whether I want to stay in the human world or work for them. I kind of already know what I want to do, and it doesn't involve painting coffins and making dead bodies look as good as they did when they were alive.

"And you must be little Alex~~!" Grell squeals like a girl my age meeting her idol. "I've heard so much about you!" He flings himself at me and before I know it all the air is being squeezed out of me in a bone-crushing hug. My feet aren't even touching the ground anymore; the man's lifted me about a foot.

"Put—me—down!" I choke and he drops me, leaving me gasping for air. It's been…what, five minutes? And he's already invaded my personal space. I'm not sure I want to be around him for more than a few minutes, he might blow up anything in a twenty-foot radius with that personality. "Well I've heard absolutely nothing about you…" I say under my breath. It goes unnoticed and I think I'm free from having to have a conversation with those two. I start to sneak towards the back door, not listening in the slightest to what they were saying until I hear my name.

"Well then maybe little Alex can," Grell volunteered me for something I have no idea about. How kind.

"Can what?" I whirl around, my four-foot-long rope of a braid almost jumping over my shoulder. I've considered cutting it, but I can't find a pair of scissors that haven't been in contact with a customer.

"Work with ME at the Dispatch Society! We're desperately shorthanded," he explains.

"With you? No," I say. I don't want to be in the same ROOM as Grell Sutcliff. Anyone else, I would.

"Aw, why not?" he whines. "Anyone would want to work with an attractive lady such as myself! We could do each other's hair, talk about boys…" I can't believe him. Does he not know the meaning of work?

"I don't want to be strangled to death whenever I walk into a room you're occupying," I say. It's true. "You seem to have no respect for personal space, and I can't be around someone that can't control their desire to squeeze the air out of a person."

Grell looks offended. And I must be a terrible person, because I truly don't give a crap. "You wound me," he whines. A loud laugh rings out and we both look at Dad. He's laughing like a crazy person and swaying back and forth on the coffin he's been occupying for the past few minutes.

"What's so funny?" I ask, irritated.

"You and Grell~!" is the response. I shrug.

"Won't you two please think about coming to the Dispatch Society? We're sadly understaffed and you two are first on the list of Reapers living in the human world," Grell pleads. "And Will is going to _kill _me if I can't get at least a few people to come. Or drown me in overtime- a truly tragic way to die!"

"Not me. I'm fine with Alexis and the customers. Speaking of which," Dad (finally) takes the new customer into the back. I breathe a sigh of relief now that that terrible sight is gone. "Now Alexis…you can make whatever decision you want," he calls from the back room.

"And you pick NOW to leave me alone with him/her/it?" I whine.

"Hey! I'm not an IT! I am a LADY~~!" Grell yells indignantly.

"Whatever you say…" I smile and head out to the back shed, thinking that he will finally just…go annoy some other person.

"Will is going to be so angry with me…" he sighs, but I'm thinking that he might not be so disappointed after all.


	2. Jack the Ripper

I sit in the pew at the church, waiting for the priest's speech to end. The person being buried is one of our customers, so I had to come as Dad's messenger. I go to almost all of the funerals held for our customers, just as a way of thanking the families for choosing our funeral parlor and to tell them that I am sorry for their loss. It's really an unnecessary procedure, but I like to think that it kind of completes the process for us. And it's good for business—if the people making the coffin show that they actually care about the person that's going in it, maybe more people will use our funeral parlor.

I like to think that. But I know that I just seem more normal to most people then Dad does. I can see why.

As the speech ends and people go to look at the body, I go out of the church. I was here a lot longer than I expected to be, and now the sun's setting. The last wisps of purple drain from the sky and I carefully life the skirt of my everyday black dress as I walk briskly home. I had to come all the way from the other side of the East End, so by the time I'm halfway home, Big Ben is striking ten and reminding me just how late it is. I walk even faster as it begins to pour rain in buckets, soon soaking me to the bone. A scream pierces the loud taps the rain makes on rooftops and I stop, surprised. It came from an alleyway not that far ahead of me. Two people appear— a man and a boy, running towards the source. Quietly, stealthily, I follow them, not letting my black boots make a single click on the cobblestones. I press myself against the wall and crane my neck to watch. There's a door at the end of the alley. The boy opens it, revealing…the same sort of thing that was in the front room of the shop this morning. A gruesomely disemboweled body, organs strewn everywhere, blood seeping from it in every direction. The boy stands there, shocked, and the man has the good sense to cover the boy's eyes. He jumps back, taking the boy with him, and the hat flies off the boy's head, landing on the ground. Something, some sort of shadow, stirs in the room.

"You've made quite a bloody mess of things in there, Jack the Ripper," the man says. "Or rather, Grell Sutcliff."

The shadow comes out of the room and it's a man in a butler uniform, long brown hair tied back, glasses even larger than mine on his face. He's covered in blood; it's dripping off his coat, sliding down the lenses of the glasses, spattered across his face like tears. This has to be the murderer, but it CANNOT be Grell. This looks like a nervous wreck, but Grell looks nothing like this. "No! No, you're wrong! I heard the scream and rushed to help—"he says, voice trembling.

"You can drop the innocent act, Grell," the man says, still holding the boy's face. "It's over. You know, this is actually the first time I've met someone like you in the human world. You play the role of helpless butler well. Your act had almost everybody completely fooled."

The bloody man looks down at the ground, as if ashamed. "Y-you think so?" He laughs a chilling sound. I feel even colder than I did when the other man was talking. "How kind!" He pulls the ribbon out of his hair and trades his glasses for red-framed ones. "After all, I am an actress!" Wait. Actress? But…that's a man… "And quite a good one at that~!" He extracted a comb from somewhere inside his jacket and ran it through his hair, turning it a vibrant crimson. That is Grell! Before I can stop myself, I step out of my hiding spot and stare, completely awed by this transformation, and completely horrified that I'm staring at Jack the Ripper himself. Grell notices me and almost skips over to me, arms outstretched like he's about to give me another hug. I sidestep and he wraps his arms around the air. "Little Alex~! Why are you avoiding me?"

"Because I like my lungs the way they are, not crushed," I say.

"You know this man?" the tall, chilling-voiced man asks, surprising.

"He's a friend of my father's," I say, "I only met Grell this morning."

"And your father is…" he prompts.

"You wouldn't know him, and I'd be surprised if you did. He's a strange kind of person, runs a little funeral parlor about half an hour away from here, he's the Undertaker," I explain. Surprisingly, a look of recognition passes across his face.

"We know the Undertaker," the boy says. His companion releases him and he takes a step towards me.

"You do? How? We almost never get living visitors," I say, surprised. It's nice to know that living people other than William T. Spears come to the house once in a while.

"We'll get to that later," the boy says. I nod. Grell puts a hand on my head to ruffle my bangs and I push it away, annoyed.

"I'm very interested as to why a Grim Reaper is playing a butler," the tall man says.

"Let's just say it was out of love for a certain woman," Grell smiles his shark-toothed smile and I sidestep again, trying to distance myself from him as much as possible.

"And that woman would be…" the man prompts.

"You don't really need to ask, do you?" A new voice, this one female, comes from the room with the body in it and a woman clad all in red steps out.

"Madam," the boy says with the faintest surprise in his voice.

"Well, I hadn't counted on this," she says, "I didn't think anyone would be able to tell who Grell truly is."

"Naturally you were on the suspect list from the very beginning, but your alibis seemed flawless," the boy says, determined, to do what I don't know.

"You mean you actually suspected your own aunt?" she says, like it's a guilt trip. So they're related…that must be awful. I can't imagine being related to a murderer.

"I was looking for a murderer. Degree of relation to me did not matter," the boy's voice is hard, emotionless. "None of the humans on the suspect list could have been responsible for all the murders, but if one of them had an inhuman accomplice, that would change the game completely. It had to be someone who could enter and leave a room without being noticed, someone who could travel from the Viscount's home to the East End instantaneously. In the end, you two were the only ones that could be Jack the Ripper. You, Madam Red, and Grell Sutcliff. I began to look into what else the victims had in common besides prostitution, and then, I noticed that they had all undergone a certain surgery at the hospital where you work. We made a list of all the patients. One, the only one who was still alive, was a woman by the name of Mary Kelly. We knew if we waited around here you would come for her eventually. But we were…too late."

"My darling nephew, how unfortunate this turned out to be!" she sighs. "If you had let it go, we could have played chess again, but now… YOU'VE TAKEN EVERYTHING!" Out of nowhere, Grell's weapon rips to life. He starts to bring it down on the boy and before I know what I'm doing, I grab the boy's hand and pull him to me, so that if the weapon ever makes it down, it's going to hit empty air. At the same time, the man grabs the blade right between his hands and shoves it back, making Grell flip backwards a few times.

"W-what IS that?" the boy asks, surprised.

Dad explained the Death Scythe concept to me when I was about ten, so I know what that weapon actually is. "It's a Death Scythe, the Grim Reaper's tool for harvesting souls," I say quickly. The boy looks up at me and I let him go.

Grell began to flirt, but was coldly rejected by the man. "You know, red is my favorite color. It's perfect for clothes, for hair, for lipstick…so I painted all those women with pretty, pretty red blood! And now, Sebastian, I'll make you even better looking than you are! I'll tear you up from the inside, and trust I'll make you like it! You'll be as lovely as scattered rose petals!" he rants.

Sebastian just rejects him again and puts his coat over the boy's head, shielding him from the rain and revealing a butler's suit.

"In my name and that of the Queen I order you, Sebastian," the boy takes off his eye patch, "put an end to them!" A pentagram begins to glow in the boy's right eye. I push my confusion aside and watch this unfold, trying to decide if I should just bolt.

"Indeed, my young lord," Sebastian responds by removing his glove with his teeth. On his hand is another pentagram, matching the one on his master's eye. Grell swings the weapon and I can't hear what they're saying anymore over the roar.

"You're still the Queen's guard dog, which means now I'm your prey," the woman, Madam Red, says. "But if it hunt or be hunted, there's only one thing I can do!" she pulls a knife on him and lunges, managing to cut him only a little. He jumps back, clutching his bleeding arm. She yells something at him, what, I don't know, because the roar of the weapon seems to double in volume, and grabs him by the neck, shoving him against the wall and choking him.

That's it. I can't just stand and watch anymore. I grab her from behind and start pulling her back, but she won't move. "Release me, stupid girl! Do you want to die too!"

I shake my head violently. "We get your victims in funeral parlor a lot now! Do you think I want to see that? You're not just killing people! You're mentally scarring children! And if that's not enough," I yell over the roar, "then think about the people you hurt! Prostitutes have families too! I go to some of their funerals! There are not many people, but they're there!" I keep pulling and she raises the knife in her hand, about to bring it down on the boy, but she stops halfway down.

"Sister!" she whispers, goes a little limp and lets me pull her back. She puts her face in her hands, like she's crying. "I-I can't kill him!"

Sebastian the butler, had come up behind me, unnoticed. He reaches for Madam Red, but the boy calls out "Don't kill her!" and he stops. Then Grell makes his appearance. "Have gone softhearted on me all of a sudden? Hurry up and kill the brat already!"

I let go of her, sure that she isn't going to kill the boy. She turns around to say something to Grell, but before she can say anything, Grell runs her through with his Death Scythe. "Too late! What use do I have for you if you're just another woman!"

A bright light explodes from her body and strips of…I don't really know what swirl everywhere. "Is that her—" Sebastian starts to talk. Grell rambles on and on about "lives flashing right before their eyes." I just watch, dumbfounded, as the strips swirls everywhere. Little snapshots with pictures of someone that looks like Madam Red, only younger, can be seen on the white squares in the ribbons. Wait—that is Madam Red!

"This is the true power of the Grim Reaper, the Cinematic Record~~!" Grell announces. The ribbons stop and memories of the woman he just killed start to play in front of us. She had…a really sad life… I can see why she killed all of those people.

I glare at Grell. Did he really think that that was a good way to end a relationship? The IDIOT! Maybe he had escaped from a mental hospital. As the boy covers his aunt with the coat, I sit down next to him. I can't really say anything. There are no words for Grell's insanity, and I can't find any words to comfort the boy. Maybe…maybe it's just better to say nothing.


	3. When Do I Start?

I watch as Sebastian and Grell fight on a rooftop. It's all what I expected it to be, until Sebastian takes off his tailcoat. He shoves it right at Grell's Death Scythe and it gets caught in the mechanism, the roar stopping. Sebastian proceeds to beat the flamboyant reaper into submission. I hear him scream "NOT THE FACE!" and every blow is sent at his face. Grell lands face first on the cobblestones, making him more of a mess than he was before. The Death Scythe lands a few feet away, the coat still lodged in the blade.

"You look pretty awful," the boy says, commenting as if it's not THAT big of a deal. Sebastian is covered in blood. He really should be dead.

"He caused me a little bit of trouble, actually," Sebastian replies. He's awfully chipper for someone covered in blood from his own wounds.

"I-I'll show you s-someday," Grell croaks past his swollen, beaten face.

"Oh, dear," the butler sighs. "I suppose one can't kill a reaper with bare fists alone," he pulls the Death Scythe out of the ground, "Well, then, I'll just try this! His very special Reaper scythe!" he takes the coat out of the blade with ease. "There! That's unstuck. Now it should cut right through you."

"No! What are you doing! No, wait—"Grell starts to speak but is cut off by a foot to the face.

"I must say this is much nicer. I prefer kicking to being kicked," Sebastian comments, " Master, he's revolting, but still a divine being. Are you prepared to accept whatever consequences come of killing him?"

"Sebastian, do you need me to repeat my order?" the boy says coldly.

"No, sir," Sebastian answers and rips the Scythe to life, ready to cut Grell into tiny ribbons. "We've finally found something you're good at, screaming. Very well done," he says, andi can hear the sadistic smile in his voice. "And, as a reward, I shall kill you with this cherished little toy of yours."

"NO! PLEASE STOP! DON'T KILL ME!" Grell begs.

"So sorry…" Sebastian isn't sorry at all.

"I CAN TELL YOU WHO KILLED THE KID'S PARENTS!" he yells. The boy looks up sharply, gasps a little. Sebastian begins to swing the Scythe at Grell, but right at the last second, a pair of hedge clippers comes between Grell and his own weapon.

Hedge clippers…William! I have never, ever been so relieved to see a cold, emotionless workaholic before in my life. And there he is, on the roof of a house. He retracts his Death Scythe and looks down at us. "I apologize for interrupting, let me introduce myself, I am William T. Spears, an administrator at the Grim Reaper Staffing Association. I've come to retrieve that Reaper there." He looks at Grell, who is staring back up at him, a look of admiration plastered on his face.

"William! Oh, William! Did you come to save me?" Grell just gets his face shoved into the ground in response as William jumps from the roof and lands on him.

"Attention Reaper Grell Sutcliff. You have violated several regulations. First, you killed people not on the To-Die list, second, you used a Death Scythe that had been modified without authorization, and finally, you offered someone classified information on the identity of his relatives' murderer." William grinds Grell's face against the pavement once more. "I apologize for all of the trouble this wretch has caused. Here, please accept my card. Honestly, I never thought I'd see the day when I had to bow my head to demon scum like you." Demon? Huh? "This is a disgrace to all Grim Reapers."

"Then perhaps you should keep a better eye on your minions," Sebastian tosses away the card. "So they don't trouble us. Humans are so easily tempted. They will do anything when in the grip of utter despair." I think of Madam Red, how she killed all those people out of envy. "They will grasp at any thread that promises to save them from unhappiness, no matter the consequences. You should know that."

"That's a charming bit of hypocrisy. You demons capitalize on that quality more often than we do."

"That I cannot deny."

"Right now you seem to be a tame dog: that makes you so much less dangerous than the rabid mongrels running around free. Now, come with me, Grell, we're leaving. You too, Alexis, we wouldn't want you to get lost in the middle of the night, especially with a demon." I stand up and follow him, smiling to myself as I watch Grell being dragged by the hair. "The board is not going to be pleased."

An object suddenly flies past my face and I jump back, narrowly avoiding Grell's Death Scythe. William catches it between two fingers. "I assume you'll want that," Sebastian says.

"Yes, thank you," William replies coldly, dropping the Death Scythe on Grell. I pick it up off of him and carry it with me, not wanting it to drag on the cobblestones and make annoying little scraping noises. "Now, if you'll excuse us…" we walk out of the alleyway.

I follow William without question until I'm sure we're out of earshot. "What was all that about demons?" I ask. He sighs and pushes up his glasses with the hedge glasses.

"The butler you saw was only a cover. That is really a demon, a creature of Hell. He formed a contract with the Earl Phantomhive, the boy with the pentagram on his eye. That same symbol can be seen on the demon's hand, it is the mark of their contract. When the boy gets revenge on the people responsible for murdering his parents, which cannot be done without the help of the demon, the demon shall get his soul in return for serving him." William explains.

"That's appalling…" I comment. It really is.

"Did this shameful excuse for a reaper happen to come to your home this morning to speak to you and your father about coming to the Dispatch Society to work?" William changes the subject.

"Yes… I would go, if he wasn't the one asking," I joke, but I'm half serious.

"Hey, that's mean!" Grell moaned. It is mean. But it's also true; I don't want to give Grell the satisfaction of knowing that I'm going because HE asked me.

"We are terribly shorthanded, and now this idiot gave me even more overtime," William gave Grell a small kick, "so please consider joining the Dispatch Society, if you will," he says formally. I smile and push up my glasses.

"When do I start?"


	4. A New Beginning

I lean on the wrought-iron fence, looking at the church. A little ways over, a few kids are staring through the metal bars. "The church is really crowded today!" one of them, a little boy, says. "Why, Big Brother?"

"I don't know," the oldest kid shrugs.

"But you're older, you're supposed to know," his brother says.

"You're stupid!" the little girl points at him.

"Hey, I'm only twelve, it's not like I'm supposed to know everything!" the older boy yells. I smile.

"You have a point," Dad, who's been next to me the whole time, starts talking to the kids. "At only twelve, it would be a shame if you did understand what's happening. Let me explain it. Today is a special noblewoman's big day."

The kids start to scoot backwards. I don't blame them; a random person just started talking to them. What else should they do? "What do you mean, mister?" the little girl asks. Her brother covers her mouth quickly.

"Well, it's the ultimate ceremony of my person's life, the funeral," Dad says. The kids just bolt. I laugh to myself a little. "It is," he says in response.

"I'm not questioning it," I say, "Come on, we have to get the rose petals."

We go to the back of the church and retrieve a huge, decorated cart that we filled with rose petals, at the Earl's request. Pushing them to the open doors of the church, the demon butler, Dad, and I stand there and watch them blow through the church, raining down into the coffin, onto Madam Red, and onto everyone else in the church. It's beautiful.

A few hours later, we find ourselves in the cemetery; staring down at the headstone of Mary Jane Kelly, Jack the Ripper's last victim. Earl Phantomhive had commissioned the headstone for her. She was an immigrant, and there was no family to claim the body. "My last customer from Jack the Ripper," Dad says, almost mournful.

The young Earl looked down at the mound of dirt covering the coffin. "Apparently she was an immigrant, and she had no family to claim her body."

"So our kindhearted Earl here had us pretty her up and even erected a gravestone for her," Dad strokes the boy's cheek, smiling. "A truly noble act on his part, eh?"

"It isn't noble at all," he says harshly, "the noble thing to do would have been to save her, and I could have, if I put her life first. But no, I had to catch them. Apprehending Jack the Ripper was more important. I knew they intended to kill her. I knew, and I let her die, along with my aunt."

"You regret what you did, my lord?" Dad says right in his ear. Anyone else would have jumped about a mile, but the stoic child just stands there and continues to stare at the grave.

"No, I don't. Now Jack the Ripper is gone forever, and I've done exactly as Her Majesty asked of me."

"Victoria, eh? Don't very much like her. She just sits back and watches while you do all her dirty work for her. Doesn't seem fair to me," Dad says. I shoot him a _look_ but he's too busy breathing down the Earl's neck.

"That's what the Phantomhives do, it's our duty, passed down through generations along with this ring," the boy replies, cold as ice.

"That ring reminds me of a collar a master puts on a dog, you're forever tied to the Queen by the leash of duty," Dad says. I thank Heaven that nobody but us can hear this conversation.

"I've chosen this life, so stop!" the child yells as Dad tries to pull him into a hug. He grabs the kid's tie and pulls him up to his face.

"Lord Phantomhive, you should be wary of the path down which duty will take you, that collar may choke you yet," he lets the Earl go. "We wouldn't want that, now would we? Do come by if you need my assistance again. You and that hilarious butler of yours are always welcome." He shoved the flowers we brought into the boy's hands and we leave.

As we walk down that path and out of the cemetery, I raise an eyebrow. "They come to the shop?"

"Yes, sometimes the Queen's guard dog needs a little help with his work," Dad says with a laugh. "His butler tells the best jokes~!"

"How come I've never met them until last night?" I had told him about the night's events already.

"You were always elsewhere, at the funerals, or out in the shed," he explains, "and there was no point in calling you in just so we could discuss highly classified information about the England's underworld."

"Point taken," I'm not offended by the fact that I was left out of those discussions. I wouldn't have wanted to come in anyway, I've never been interested in the inner workings of the machine called England's underworld. I'm happy staying ignorant of the every single opium den in London, or the cause of death for all the customers we get. "You don't mind, do you? That I'm leaving?" I've also told him that I'm taking up William's offer.

"Not at all," he says, laughing a little. "If anything, it's going to be good to hear all the stories you bring back~! I'm sure they'll be quite funny, what with you working alongside Grell~!"

"Who said I was going to work with Grell!" I'm surprised. "I have no intention of doing that! What gave you THAT idea?"

"Oh, but you two would make the perfect partnership~! You're sensible, sane, and Grell is…Grell. It's perfect~!" he explains, now laughing outright.

"NO!" I protest. "He's so annoying, and gender-confused to boot!" I push up my slipping glasses. Dad just laughs and laughs, all the way home. Honestly, sometimes I don't know how I'm not embarrassed to be seen with him.

At the shop, William T. Spears is already waiting outside, ready to take me to the Society. I take the suitcase I prepared this morning and give Dad a hug. "I'll miss you," I say.

"Make sure to write, I'll be wanting to hear all those stories you'll have to tell me~!" Dad says.

"Certainly, I'd never deny you a good laugh," I say. William waves his hedge clippers in a "come on" gesture, and I follow him, but not without one last look at the funeral parlor that is all I've known for the past sixteen years.

I'm looking forward to my new job.


	5. Makeover

I smile contentedly as I look around my dorm. It's small, but very comfortable. Carefully I take my two spare dresses out of my suitcase and hang them in the tiny wardrobe. Every dress I own is black, and it always has been. One of them, though, is a little bit puffier and ruffled, for the funerals of the more wealthy customers. The rest are just simple, solid-colored, black dresses with long sleeves. I've been told that I look like I'm always in mourning.

I sit on the small bed when I finish unpacking and look around. There's a tiny bedroom, which I'm currently in, and an even smaller bathroom, and a reasonably small front-room. It's not the largest living arrangement, but my room at home was smaller. We lived above the parlor, so it's not like we had that much space.

A knock on the door stops my train of thought and I open it to find Grell. "What are you doing here?" I ask, annoyed.

"I wanted to make sure you were settling in well, little Alex~!" he skips through the door before I get the chance to slam it in his face. He goes straight to the bedroom and opens my closet with a BANG.

"I'm fine, Grell! Now GET OUT." I say, my voice sounding deadly. I haven't been issued a scythe yet, but when I get my hands on one, I can use that threat.

Grell makes a small "tsk-tsk" noise. "This will not do, this will not do at all…. Little Alex, why do only have such plain, boring black dresses~?" he asks. "You would look so adorable in RED~~~~!"

"Because I went to the funerals at home, and because black is my favorite color," I say through clenched teeth. "I would appreciate if you GOT OUT."

"Oh, no, Little Alex~!" his face takes on a very disturbing expression, like he's about to….umm….how to put this….violate….me. "Now that I'm here, I want to help you look good for your first day of work~!" he starts to walk towards me with outstretched arms. Before I can sidestep, I'm being hugged so tightly that I can barely breathe, for the second time. Only this time, I can't say anything, because he's hugging me that much tighter. Instead I struggle until he drops me in a heap on the floor. My glasses slide off my face and I curse under my breath, feeling around on the floor for them. I can't find them anywhere. "Oh, and these…" I have a feeling someone else just picked up my glasses…. Oh, no… "These are going to have to go, too, little Alex… they're not becoming to you at all~!"

I grab at the blurry figure holding my glasses and manage to get him to let go of the precious accessory, the shove them onto my face. "Don't mess with the glasses, or I'll break your treasured red ones," I say, my tone menacing, "and I mean it, Grell Sutcliff!"

"So attached to something so ugly… oh, little Alex, you are a piece of work, are you not~! But that's going to be so much fun~!" he grabs my wrist and starts dragging me out the door. "Let's go to my room~! I'm going to give you a makeover~~! You have no idea the wonders that lipstick can do for you, a vibrant red will be so pretty on your pale skin~!" he leaves my door open as he sprints down the hallway.

"LET ME GO, LET ME GO, LET ME GO!" I yell. He's twisting my wrist as he leads me down the hallway, and it HURTS.

"Sorry, no can do~!" he says, shoving me through another door. I find myself in a sea of red. At first, I think I'm at a crime scene and everything is covered in blood. It reminds me of the room where Mary Kelly was murdered. But then, the dizziness from Grell's incessant twirling when we were going to his room stops I can see a room about the same size as my own, only instead of a normal beige, everything has been decorated with crimson red. Grell drags me to the bathroom and I can see a whole shop's worth of makeup products, all of which I have never used before (or cared to use), and some of which I haven't ever seen before. He gets a chair from the front-room and sets it so that it's facing away from the mirror. "Sit down~!" he forces me into the chair. "Close your eyes, I want you to be surprised when you see yourself~!" I groan. Grell has just ruined my first evening at the Dispatch Society. I'll get him for this.

I feel different things being put of my face. At one point, something sharp pokes my eyes and I jump a little. "Don't move~! It's just an eyeliner pencil~!" I don't know what that is, but I don't ask. All I do is silently beg for death. "So… Tell me, were there any boys you liked back home?"

"No," I say, my voice icy. It's true, but does he really think this is the way to get a good conversation going?

"REALLY~? That's unfathomable~!" he says. He sounds like he's just been thrust into the very deepest pits of despair. "I can't imagine not loving my Bassy~! Life would be so meaningless without him~! And William, oh, William~!"

"Bassy?" I'm really confused by this.

"Sebastian, that ah-mah-zing demon butler~! Oh, he's so good-looking that I could just DIE from it~!" he jumps into a long monologue about the merits of Sebastian, butler from Hell. I couldn't care less. I'm too busy thinking of painful and long ways to kill Grell. It feels like I've been sitting here for hours, having my face smeared with different things, my cheeks poked and prodded, my eyelids brushed at with what I think is an actual paintbrush. In reality, I know that it's probably only been twenty minutes or so. "Don't open your eyes, I'll be right back~!" I obey, knowing that if I don't, he'll probably subject me to even more torture.

I hear the rustling of what I suspect to be a very puffy, overly ruffled dress and cringe. I wish I was wearing my glasses, at least they would provide some familiar comfort, but Grell removed them to get to my eyes. I stroke my long braid, the only thing on my head that Grell hasn't touched. My hair is long; it reaches down to the backs of my knees. I've never, ever cut it, and the only things I know how to do with it are braiding it and pull it into a ponytail.

If that jerk cuts my hair I will murder him like he murdered those women, and I will leave his body to rot instead of taking it to my father for "prettying up," as he puts it.

"Okay, open your eyes~!" I open them obediently and turn around, only to find a red towel covering the mirror. Grell is standing in the doorway with…oh God, is that one of Madam Red's dresses? Did he raid her house or something? "Put this on~!" he thrusts it at me. I shake my head and thrust it back. "If you don't put it on, I'll break your glasses and not get you new ones~!" he threatens. My hatred for him has just doubled. I angrily take the dress and push him out of the bathroom. Slipping out of my black dress, I put on the red one, relieved that I don't need a corset for it. I hate corsets more than I hate Grell.

I open the door and there he is, smiling like an idiot. He flies at me and picks me up like I weigh nothing, swinging me around and then setting me down. "You are beautiful~! You are a vision~! You are a MASTERPIECE~!" he yells and shoves me in front of a mirror.

I gasp. I do look good. My eyelids are covered with a light dusting of rusty-hued powder. My cheeks are pink, even though I'm not blushing. My eyelashes seem to have doubled in volume. My yellow-green eyes stand out behind the lenses. My lips are a bright, shiny red. And the dress, oh, the dress! It hugs my figure perfectly, accentuating curves I never knew were there.

"Do you like it?" Grell skips around me.

"It's better than I expected it to be, but I can't wear this to WORK!" I say, not giving him the satisfaction of telling him that I really do like it. "It's not practical at all, and it's too flamboyant!"

"Oh, you know you like it~! Hey, they do a little ball every year. The next one is in a month, you'll HAVE to let me give you another makeover~!" he begs.

"FINE." I oblige. "But only then, not whenever you feel like it."

"Okay~!" he smiles. I gather my black dress and start to leave. "Keep the dress, little Alex~!" he waves at me down the hallway. I make a point not to look at him as I go back to my room, thanking the higher powers that everybody is in their rooms or in the human world, and nobody can see me.

When I get back to my room, I change into my nightclothes, scrub the makeup off, and hang the dress along with my normal clothes. Before I go to bed, though, I take out the pen and paper I brought with me and start a letter to Dad.

It turns out that I already have a story for him.


	6. Death Scythe

William leads me down a long corridor and through a door on the left side. We're in a room with various weapons lining the walls, from swords to guns to actual scythes. One catches my attention—a silver scythe. There's a silver skull with a metal spine that becomes the handle, and the blade protrudes from the base of the skull and extends into a long curve. On the bottom of the blade is a small curve ending in a spike close to the skull, and only then does the curve match the top of the blade. I can't take my eyes off of it. "Alexis! Are you listening?" I hear William say.

(A/N: Does that scythe remind you of anything? Perhaps in the episode with the Fire of London? Hmm… think about it….re-watch that episode if you have to….and tell me what you came up with in the reviews!)

"Huh?"

"I said you may choose your Death Scythe. Keep in mind that it must be an appropriate weight for you," he repeats what he supposedly said while I was drooling over the scythe. I go right to it and take it off its hook. It's light enough for me to carry without too many problems, but I'll still have to get used to it. William smiles—WAIT, HE'S ACTUALLY SHOWING EMOTION! Anyway, he smiles. A little laugh escapes him.

"What? Does it not go with my outfit or something?" I tease.

"No, it's just that you have similar tastes to someone else I know," he comments and we move on. He takes me to a large field where other Reapers are practicing with their Death Scythes. They're using straw dummies for practice. A tall female Reaper paces between the others, correcting their form, giving them tips, etc. She greets William with a wave and walks over to us. "Alexis, this is Amelia Talbot, our Division's weapons expert and head Training Officer. She will help you master your Scythe and teach you the basics of doing your job." William nods at her. "Good luck, Alexis," he says and walks off.

"Alexis, eh? Good to meet you," she says, holding out a hand. "Quite a good choice you've made there," she says, gesturing to my scythe. I shake her hand. "It's perfect for your height." She laughs.

"Thank you," I say.

"Come on," she says, gesturing for me to follow her. I do. She leads me to an open space a little farther away from the others. I find myself looking at a brand-new, unscathed dummy. Amelia teaches me how to hold the weapon and soon I'm whirling around my little area, spinning the scythe, and slashing the dummy into teeny tiny pieces. This is exhilarating. I love this. I stop when I've cut off the dummy's head. Amelia's smiling at me. "You're a natural at this!" she says.

"Um, thanks," I say, panting. I tug on the short sleeves of the training uniform I was given this morning, smiling back at her.

"It's good to have a girl working in Fieldwork. Those men need someone like you to keep them in line," she says. "When William told me you were coming, I honestly thought the Board would put you in Accounting or make you someone's secretary. They're a bunch of sexist men," she comments. "Honestly, when I first came here, I started in the mail room! Took me forty-six years to end up in Scythes, and then in Training."

"That's not fair," I comment. "In the human world, it's kind of the same, actually. People think women are weak people who will and should obey their husbands in any and all matters. They also think that to support herself, a woman must get married and rely on a man," if anyone from the human world hears me now, I swear they'd run at me with a pitchfork saying "BLASPHEMY!" "If a woman wants to, she should be able to stay single, get a job, and do what she wants with her life. In the human world, they tell us that our purpose is to marry and be mothers. What if we don't want that?" I would not mind getting married to someone I love, but so many marriages are arranged. I know Dad would never make me do that, but still I'm wary of the possibility. I knew a girl, Eliza Eversby, that was married off to a man forty years older than her. In her letters, she told me that he beat her if she did something that he disagreed with. Eventually, he moved them to France and I never heard from her again.

"It's nice to meet someone who thinks the same," she says. "Not often do we get someone like you. You're someone I'd call a feminist."

"Feminist?" I've never heard the word before.

"Someone who believes that women should be treated equally to men in society," she clarifies. "It's a term I coined a few years ago."

"I like it," I say. "Let's hope it catches on."

"Yes, let's," she says. The roar of someone else's Death Scythe startles me and I jump about a mile. Looking towards the source of the noise, I see a boy about my age with… I don't know what that is… (A/N: she's talking a about a lawn mower) and he's struggling to control it. It rolls on four wheels at the dummy in front of it and the boy chases it, half-blond, half-black short hair going in every direction as he runs.

"Oh, dear," Amelia groans. "Please excuse me, Alexis," she says, "I have to go," she starts to walk away, but turns around for a second. Her eyes twinkle behind purple-framed glasses. "Keep practicing! Even if you're a natural, you can still improve." Her brown hair blows in the breeze as she runs to help the boy.

I practice until I can barely move my arms anymore and the dummy has become a pile of straw. A horn blows, its sound rolling over the field, and everyone takes their weapon and walks to a row of tents that smell strongly of food. I copy the actions of the Reapers around me and hang my scythe on the racks right inside the tent, up against the cloth wall. The boy with the out-of-control rolling Death Scythe gets into the food line next to me and smiles at me. "Hey, so you're the new girl everyone's been talking about," he says,

I smile back. "People have been talking about me?"

"Yeah, but to be honest, Mr. Sutcliff has been the one that talks the most. He's spreading this rumor that you're the Undertaker's kid, finally come to work here," he says it like there's no way it's true.

I scowl. Grell has no right to spread stuff about me, not even if it's true, especially not if it's an overblown exaggeration, and I wouldn't put it past him to come up with one of those. "Grell's right," I say. I'm going to get him for talking about me, I swear… I get a tray of food and find a table. The boy follows me. Wow. It's only my first day and I'm already making friends.

"I'm Ronald, by the way. Ronald Knox," he says, sitting down across from here. "What's your name?"

"Alexis Edenton," I say. The last name is my mother's, since Dad doesn't exactly have one. That's the only thing I know about my mother, her name. Rachel Edenton. She left a while after I was born. I guess she couldn't take all the dead people constantly in the house. "It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too," Ronald says.

"Making friends already, little Alex~? Good for you~~!" a horribly familiar voice yells next to me. It's Grell.

"What were you doing talking about me behind my back?" I ask. "What were you THINKING?"

"People always like to know the juiciest gossip~~! Right now, that's you~~!" he says, poking my cheek.

I slap his hand away. "Only you want to know the 'juiciest gossip', you idiot! What is everyone going to think? They're going to assume that I'm here only because of my father! They're not going to think that it was my own choice to take this job! And why are you at the training field anyway, it's not like you need to be here."

"Oh, little Alex~! You hurt me so~!" Grell exclaims in mock pain, a hand over his heart. "I just wanted to check on you~!" Stalker.

"I hate you," I say under my breath. What I wouldn't give to kill him right now…only I don't want to have to see all the things on his Cinematic Record, I'd probably be scarred for life.

"You two have a…interesting relationship…" Ronald comments carefully, like he's afraid for his life.

"What's interesting about it? He attempts to annoy me to death on a daily basis and I plan out long, painful ways to kill him," I say. Grell makes a little hurt noise and Ronald laughs. Ronald…he's a lot less annoying than Grell. Heck, he seems almost normal. "Oh, and can someone please explain to Grell the difference between men and women? He seems a little confused," I joke. At his expense, Ronald and I laugh uproariously, but everybody else is too busy with their conversations to notice.

"Hey, I'm not confused~! I am a woman, and a beautiful one at that~~!" he defends himself weakly.

"No, you should check again, Mr. Sutcliff. You definitely seem male to me," Ronald says. "Want to know the difference?"

"Point out a difference to me. Really, Ronald, try to," Grell challenges.

Ronald and I respond in unison: "You're flat-chested." Grell looks like we've dropped some kind of bomb on him.

"I AM NOT FLAT-CHESTED, YOU'RE JUST JEALOUS THAT I'M PRETTIER THAN YOU~!" He yells. People at other tables snort, but most people join me and Ronald and laugh outright at Grell's gender-confused personality.

"So, what do we do after this?" I ask.

"Most people just drop their weapons off in their rooms and go do paperwork, oh, and the field workers that get names added to their To-Die lists go to the human world and work there," Ronald explains. "That can take anywhere from an hour to multiple days at a time. Fieldwork is exciting, but exhausting."

"I don't mind. Hey, at least we're not sitting at desks crunching numbers all day," I push up my glasses and smile.

"Yeah, I feel bad for the people in Accounting," he says. "But the girls there are really cute," Ronald leans in to me so that his face is right up against mine. "You're cuter."

"Shut up," I lean back so I don't have to smell his breath.

"What? It's true. You're also one of the only girls in Fieldwork. Good for you," he says.

"Why, thank you," I say with sarcastic snottiness. "I do try."

"That I can see," he says and we take our empty trays to the garbage bins and get our weapons. He looks at my scythe and raises his eyebrows. "Now that's an interesting weapon," he says.

"As is yours," I say. His is some sort of motorized thing, like Grell's had been; only it's on four wheels and has blades in the little cylinder on the front.

"Alexis, please come with me," William's cold voice sneaks up behind me. "It's time to assign your To-Die list."

I follow him and can barely contain my excitement.


	7. Visit

I stand on a rooftop, looking over the notebook I had been given earlier today. It wasn't a particularly long To-Die list, but the people were hard to find! I understand why they need so many of us. Even when you know your way around London, you still have to find the dying. Of course, it helps to be able to see the names and death dates of people on the To-Die list. Ronald told me that the first time he went to the human world; he got hopelessly lost and didn't come back to the Reaper world for a week. I'm glad I lived here so long; who knew it would come in useful?

All the names have been crossed out. That's something I love about the To-Die list, it crosses out the names all by itself as they're reaped. I don't have to lift a finger except to do the actual reaping. It's magical. I'm done for the night and I close the notebook, satisfied. According to William, I'll have to file paperwork about my visits to the human world each time I get back, but that's not such a big deal. I can deal with paperwork. What I can't deal with is the biting wind that swirls in the London streets. It's absolutely frigid, and the worst part is that I left my cloak and heavy winter coat at home. I don't know how I forgot that, especially since winter is so close.

Well… it's not that far from here… It really isn't. I'm in the East End anyway, so I carefully go from rooftop to rooftop, scythe in hand, notebook having magically sent itself back to the Dispatch Society. Soon, I'm on the neighbor's roof. I climb down Ms. Keller's chimney and go through the front door of the shop. The familiar musty smell of the fabric we used to line the coffins greets me, along with a slight chemical smell coming from the back room. I smile.

"Who's there? Do I have the pleasure of making a coffin for another customer? I must admit, we don't normally get customers this late~!" a voice, Dad's, rings out from seemingly nowhere.

"That's because I'm not a customer," I say and sit on a coffin, scythe propped up on the wall.

"Alexis~!" the lid to one of the coffins that we'll never sell slides off and a pale hand with long black fingernails emerges. Dad steps out of the coffin and smiles. "What brings you here? I thought you'd be too busy to even remember to visit~!"

"Oh, please. I couldn't ever forget to visit," I say, "And I was in the area, how could I not come? Did you get the letter I sent?"

"Yes~!" Dad says, chuckling a little. "Did you really let Grell give you a makeover?"

I nod, ashamed. "I don't know how I'm alive," I joke. "I got him back for it though."

"How?" he's interested.

"I asked someone I met to help me explain the difference between men and women to Grell. It seemed to get to him, he didn't notice when we left him behind," I explain. "I consider it the perfect revenge."

"And against Grell, it is," Dad says, clearly holding back laughter. "Who helped you?"

"Ronald Knox. Another new employee," I say. "He's probably the biggest sweet-talker around."

"Mm, I've heard of him. William says that he's got most of the accountants wrapped around his finger," Dad comments. Well, this is starting to get awkward… "Don't let him do the same to you."

"Not planning on it," I say. "Hey, according to Grell, there's a ball thing that they do every year, around Christmas. _How do I get out of it?"_ I ask, emphasizing the last sentence. I never learned how to dance, and I don't want to learn how. I also want to get out of another makeover from Grell.

"Sorry, kid. There's really not a way to get out of it. They even make the subs go out into the human world so that all the Field workers can enjoy the party," Dad cackles. "So enjoy it!"

"I'm afraid that I can't…" I sigh and go up the stairs. My room has been left unchanged (thank God) and I get my cloak and winter coat from the wardrobe and sprint back down. When I get there, Dad's looking over my scythe with a smile on his face.

"You've got a great taste in weapons…" he says. "It's a funny coincidence, but you've chosen the same scythe I used when I worked at the Dispatch Society."

"Really? Cool," I say, slipping the cloak on and looking out the window with a yawn. "Well, I'm off," I say. "I want to get at least a little sleep before I have to go back to work." I take the scythe and drape my heavy coat over my arm. "I'll write again soon, assuming that Grell doesn't kill me with his…well, being Grell."

Dad waves and disappears into a coffin—I never did understand that habit. I climb up our chimney and stand on our roof, then retrace my steps to where I entered the human world. It's an abandoned alley, much like the one I saw the demon in. I wait until I'm absolutely sure there are no humans within earshot and reach into my sleeve. I pull out a small vial of bright yellow dust. It sparkles a little in the moonlight and as I take out the cork stopper, I tip some out onto my hand. This is the stuff that gets me back to the Reaper world—Transport powder. Terrible name, I know, but that's what they call it. I toss it into the air and a light appears, followed by what looks like a hole in the very air. It's a portal back to the Reaper world. I stand right under it and jump up. I don't have to work very hard; it sucks me in with its own power. I love the sensation of being Transported. It's like flying. The force of the portal propels me forward with breakneck speed. I hold tight to my possessions, because if you lose something in the Between, as this area is called, it's really, really hard to get it back. At least according to Grell, who says he's lost about sixty of his little hair dye combs in there. Maybe he should lose a few more, who knows? Maybe he'll stop being so obsessed with his hair if he does.

I see the end of the tunnel-like portal and curl up a little, ready to be forcefully flung into a random place in the Reaper world. The portal flings me out into the open air and I land on my feet (luckily—the first time I used the Transport powder, to get to the human world, I landed on my back and had to learn how to breathe all over again), in front of the dorm building. That's a real piece of luck there. I walk in and the Reaper at the front desk smiles at me. Her name tag reads "Kei Anderson". "Name please?"

"Alexis Edenton," I answer. She nods, shoulder-length red hair bobbing a little. Peering through red-framed glasses, she sifts through numerous folders in a small file cabinet.

"I'm assuming you're coming back from the human world?" she asks. I nod. "This is your paperwork for the night; you're supposed to have it back by morning. Of course, if it were me, I wouldn't give a crap about that stuff. It's too annoying," she says, smiling slightly.

"Thanks," I say, taking the papers she's handing me. "That's interesting, maybe you should tell the higher-ups," I respond to her little anti-paperwork speech.

"Maybe I will," she says, tapping a black and red striped fingernail against her chin. She stands up and her black and red striped dress (wow, this person really likes to match stuff) rustles, a wave of ruffles swirling around her calves. She puts the folder she had taken out into a different filing cabinet. "Well, my shift's over," she smiles at me. "See you 'round," she starts to go up the stairs to the rooms numbered 1-500 and I can hear her ankle high, three-inch heeled boots clacking on the like floor. I turn to the staircase leading to rooms 501-1000 and almost run up to my room. I'm eager to just fill out the paperwork already.

I quickly unlock the door to my room, looking around to make sure there's no sign of Grell. I breathe a sigh of relief when there isn't. For once, I've gotten away from the freak show we call Grell Sutcliff.


End file.
